


Familiar

by Markovia



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/M, Fighting, Friendship, Romance, Sex, Stab Wound, daily life, injuries, not-quite-fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-24 07:56:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13806876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Markovia/pseuds/Markovia
Summary: It’s his fault that she lost her position at Yagiri Pharma, she’s certain of it. For all she knows, it’s his fault that Seiji has abandoned her. A quiet voice in the back of her head reminds her that it’s entirely her fault but Izaya is a fine target for her pent up fury so she ignores it.





	Familiar

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys enjoy this! It'll start off a little angsty (as usual) but is essentially going to be a developing relationship piece that will lead to not-quite-fluff (I can't quite imagine Namie or Izaya being fluffy!).

It hits her all at once on a Friday evening, one hour before she’s meant to clock out. There’s nothing in particular that prompts it, she’s just sat at her desk looking aimlessly out of the overly large windows at the cityscape below. Izaya is working quietly for once. He’s focused on his laptop, occasionally letting out a soft chuckle, clearly submerged in his own little world. Perhaps it’s one of those chuckles that sends her over the edge, maybe it’s the blinking lights of the city - she isn’t sure. But it hits and it hits hard. 

 

_ Seiji doesn’t love you and he never will.  _

 

It’s the first time she’s accepted it to be true and when the words sink in, her chest tightens, her palms start to sweat and the room starts to spin. Her blood pounds loud in her ears until she can barely hear Izaya’s incessant tapping on his computer keyboard. Her brother, her beloved brother, her  _ world _ \- if she doesn’t have him then she doesn’t have anything. Her high-powered job is no more, nor her scientific studies, nor any of the people she made tenuous ‘friendships’ with at the Pharmaceutical company. There’s nothing now, just nothing, just- 

 

Just a severed head, a childish maniac and her. 

 

Namie shakily gets to her feet and heads toward the kitchen. The information broker has a stash of expensive alcohol in the cupboard above the washing machine and right now she would like nothing more than a large gulp of whiskey, vodka, fucking anything. She rifles through the cupboard and picks out an aged Japanese whisky from some brand she’s never heard of, along with a glass. Her breathing is laboured as she pours the amber liquid into the ornate crystal cup, her hands are trembling enough to cause some to spill onto the countertop. It’s a panic attack, she’s well aware of that. It’s never happened before, Namie’s never really had cause to panic. Even after the incident with the Dollars she had a contingency plan. But then, she still had the idea of Seiji to cling to. The realisation that she  _ doesn’t _ , that she never  _ did,  _ is crippling, she’s feels as if she’s being swallowed up, suffocating. 

 

The alcohol slides easily down her throat, it burns pleasantly, burns everything away. Unfortunately it fades too quickly, so she pours herself another few fingers worth and knocks it back rapidly. Namie has always been able to handle her booze well, even after the third shot she barely feels it. Fuck, she wants a cigarette. Quitting was the worst idea she’s ever had. Perhaps it would quell her trembling fingers. Perhaps the smoke would fill the gaping hole she feels in her chest. 

 

“Are you quite alright Namie?” 

 

She turns her head to see Izaya leaning casually against the doorframe, hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans. His usual smirk is plastered across his face and his eyes are bright with amusement, clearly directed at her sudden lack of integrity. Namie places the glass down on the counter and turns fully to face him, crossing her hands over her chest. How she hates him, loathes him, she’d poison him in a second if he didn’t presently have some sort of leverage over her life. It’s his fault that she lost her position at Yagiri Pharma, she’s certain of it. For all she knows, it’s his fault that Seiji has abandoned her. A quiet voice in the back of her head reminds her that it’s entirely  _ her  _ fault but Izaya is a fine target for her pent up fury so she ignores it. 

 

“Fuck you,” she hisses. 

 

Izaya chuckles under his breath and pushes himself away from the doorframe. He saunters toward casually, as if she’s not almost spitting poison at him. There’s only a few feet between them when he stops and turns to grab a glass from the cupboard. He re-fills her glass and pours one of his own, both doubles. Namie’s tense, on edge by the proximity of a man she cannot stand, nor trust. Izaya pushes the glass toward her and picks up his own. He tilts his head and his grin widens. 

 

“Cheers,” he says, tone thick with humour. 

 

“What are you doing?” she asks. 

 

Izaya raises a brow. “What do you mean? I’m simply having a drink with my lovely secretary. Why don’t we go and sit in the living room?”

 

“Why?”

 

He shrugs and spins around on his heel. “More comfortable. Not everything I do has a double meaning, you know?”

 

_ Yes it does _ , she thinks, though she follows him regardless, drink in hand. The informant collapses onto the sofa and she seats herself at the other end, reclining against the arm. The television is already switched on, it has been for hours. Izaya hates working in complete silence so the twenty-four hour news station is usually playing in the background. They stare absently at the screen for a while, sipping their drinks. 

 

“You know that idiot brother of yours isn’t worth your time,” Izaya states, rolling his head onto his shoulder to look at her. 

 

Namie winces and gulps down the rest of her drink. “Shut up.”

 

“Your obsession will come to nothing,” he replies, calmly. There’s still signs of amusement on his face and it makes her bite back a harsh reply. 

 

“Neither will yours,” she spits. 

 

Izaya blinks and his mouth curves down into a displeased frown. She doesn’t have to voice his name for Izaya to know who she’s referring to. “At least I’m aware of that. You’re too far gone in your delusions to remember it’s your own  _ brother  _ you’re lusting after and he will never want you in return.”

 

“I know th-“

 

“All this self-pity is very unlike you, Namie,” he continues, louder than before. A unpleasant giggle fills the room. “Get over it or you’ll die alone.”

 

Namie hates that he’s laughing at her. She hates that he’s picked apart what’s wrong with her and finds amusement in it. Part of her wants to take the glass and smash it into his stupid face. Instead she knocks back the drink and places the glass back onto the coffee table before he’s even taken another sip.

 

“You’re pathetic,” she states, coldly. Izaya laughs softly and drains the drink before placing the glass down next to hers. 

 

“But Namie, I haven’t done anything wrong. I’m simply informing you of what’s best for you. You’re so mean.”

 

She wrinkles her nose in disgust. Anger is tightening her chest but there’s something else there too, cold loneliness that won’t stop aching and is starting to make her head fill with fog. She tries to keep herself composed - it will do no good to be in a state of confusion around Izaya. The lights in the living space are dimmer than before and the soft glow casts shadows across the sharp angles of the informant’s face. Namie had always thought that he could be attractive if he didn’t have such a rotten personality. But everything about this man infuriates her - his disgusting smirk, the way he flourishes his thin fingers, that he always seems to be thinking a hundred steps in advance of everyone else. 

 

_ Get over it or you’ll die alone.  _

 

Namie feels her chest tighten again and her guts start to squirm uncomfortably. Nothingness would kill her eventually. She would die alone, just as he said. 

 

“You’re lonely too,” she says, quietly. 

 

It doesn’t look like he is expecting this statement, his smirk falters and his eyes narrow slightly. “What does that have to do with anything?”

 

It’s not a no is it, you heartless little man, she thinks. The grimace on his face suggests that she’s prodded a sensitive subject. Many people think that Izaya is as omniscient and indestructible as he is sarcastic but they don’t see the part of him that she does. The fury on his face when he planned his revenge on Yodogiri Jinnai, the hurt when he found out Shinra was hosting a party, the longing and excitement that radiates from him when he returns home after a fight with Heiwajima. Izaya is not some godlike figure, he’s as breakable and affected by emotion as everyone else - he’s just better at hiding it.

 

“Get over it,” she repeats, coldly. “Or you’ll die alone.”

 

Izaya hums lowly, shaking his head. “You’re lucky I’m so fond of you, Namie, or you might end up with some very nasty people knocking down your door.”

 

“Are you threatening me?” Namie replies, narrowing her eyes. 

 

“I wouldn’t dare,” he laughs, looking back at the television. “We both know you’d slit my throat in my sleep or poison me before I could pose even a minor threat to you.”

 

Namie frowns and folds her arms across her chest as she leans back into the sofa cushions. “Then why keep me around?”

 

“As I said, I’m very fond of you,” Izaya answers. He turns to look at her with a lazy grin on his face. “And despite your consistently sour expression and the odd threat on my life, you’re a very efficient secretary.”

 

His smile widens and Namie’s eye twitches in annoyance. They sit in silence for a while, both watching the world outside from the confines of the television screen. There’s something odd going on in Ikebukuro, as there always is, and Namie wonders how much Izaya has to do with what’s going on. 

 

“Did you set the stalker on that girl?” she asks, gesturing to the television. “The idol, uh - Ruri. That’s it, Ruri Hijiribe.”

 

Izaya shakes his head and a wry smile works its way onto his face. “For once, no. That was my  _ dear _ friend Mr Yodogiri Jinnai.”

 

“Really? Why would he want to have her stalked?” Namie says, wrinkling her nose in confusion. “Isn’t she one of his clients?”

 

“She switched to Jack-O-Lantern after he ‘went missing’. That was a couple of weeks after he so kindly stabbed me in the chest,” Izaya replies, sourly. He shifts uncomfortably as if the thought of the attack has made his injury flare up. By the way the informant carefully holds himself and occasionally hisses when moving the stab wound still causes him a lot of pain. It’s healing well as he’s been spending more time in the house but his inability to keep still for more than five minutes means that his stitches are often irritated and the skin is unable to seal. It’s obvious that he’s itching to get outside and have life go back to normal. Namie can’t wait for that to happen as well - anything to get him out of the office and leave her in peace. 

 

“The same agency as Hanejima, right? Heiwajima’s brother?” 

 

Izaya nods. A dark scowl appears briefly on his face and Namie can only assume it’s because he’s thinking of Shizuo. It doesn’t stay for long and soon his expression returns to that irritatingly smug look. “Indeed. My educated guess is that Yodogiri would like Miss Hijiribe back. He’s been asking about Saika and Celty’s head too, according to Tsukumoya.”

 

“It sounds like he’s trying to collect oddities of interest,” Namie comments. The informant snaps his fingers loudly and hums in agreement. 

 

“My thoughts exactly!” he exclaims, suddenly very excited. An excited Izaya makes her nervous - he’s prone to setting fire to things when he’s like this. He makes a sudden move as if he’s going to stand, but then groans loudly and drops back onto the sofa with an arm wrapped around his torso. “Ah - damn.”

 

Namie rolls her eyes and scoots closer to him, batting his hand away from his chest. “How many times do I have to tell you? Stop jumping about all the time or your wound will never heal.”

 

Izaya grins despite the pain that’s clearly from the way his lips twitch and allows her to push him flat against the sofa. As her hands move to the hem of his shirt, he chuckles derisively and feigns embarrassment. “You’re so forceful. What happened to duty of  _ care _ ?”

 

She scowls and kneels down beside the sofa so that she can get a better look at his torso. With a huff, she pushes his shirt up and sighs with relief when she sees no obvious sign of further tearing to the wound. Her fingers gently trail over the neat stitches and he lets out a low hiss when she prods a more sensitive area. 

 

“Forceful?” she scoffs, glaring up at him. “Stop playing the blushing, innocent virgin, we both know it’s a lie. Well, the ‘blushing, innocent’ part  at least.”

 

The information broker glares back at her and shoos her away. Namie sits back down on the sofa as he moves himself upright, a smirk on her face. 

 

“Oh sorry, did I hit a nerve?” she asks, sarcastically. Clearly she  _ has  _ because Izaya gives her the most scathing side-eye she’s ever seen. An embarrassing flush spreads across his cheeks which causes her to raise a brow. She knew he was immature but  _ this _ is unexpected. “Seriously? One mention of sex and you’re squirming like a schoolboy.”

 

“Shut up,” he snaps, brows furrowing in annoyance. “I’ve had sex.”

 

Namie snorts. “Uh huh.”

 

“I have.” 

 

“Blow-up dolls don’t count,” she comments. Izaya shoves her shoulder with the heel of his palm. For once she doesn’t retaliate, she simply falls onto her side in fits of laughter. 

 

“It’s not like you’re any better,” he spits, aggravated more than he should be. “At least I don’t dream about fucking my sibling.”

 

It would annoy her more if he didn’t look so peeved. “At least I’ve had sex before, Izaya.”

 

He narrows his eyes suspiciously. “Oh yeah? And who was that  _ nee-chan? _ ”

 

Namie waves a hand carelessly. “Various men and women.”

 

_ That  _ gets his attention and he sits upright, eyes bulging. “Uh-“

 

“You’re so immature.”

 

“I just didn’t expect it,” Izaya mumbles, clearly trying to form some semblance of his usual laissez-faire attitude. “And for the record I  _ have  _ had sex before. Granted, it was a long time ago but-“

 

“An affair with your beloved Shizu-chan during high-school?”

 

Izaya’s eye twitches in annoyance - toward what exactly she cannot tell. “Don’t say such disgusting things.”

 

“Then who?”

 

“I’d say that was none of your business,” he says, gruffly. With a pained huff he pushes himself onto his feet and grabs their glasses from the coffee table. “Another drink, Namie?”

 

She checks her watch and lets out a resigned sigh. “I’ll need to stay in the guest room. It’s late already.”

 

The informant shrugs nonchalantly and rounds the sofa so that he can head toward the kitchen. “Fine by me. Maybe I’ll get lucky and you’ll stay in my room.”

 

“In your dreams, pervert.”

 

Izaya grunts in annoyance and disappears out of sight. Namie smiles and leans back against the cushions, swinging her legs up onto the sofa so she can stretch out. With a contented sigh she folds her hands over her stomach and looks up at the ceiling. It’s warm in the apartment and the alcohol adds another layer of comfort to the evening. Namie wonders if it is odd to be feeling so content considering where she is and who she is drinking with but for now she’ll accept this little moment of peace. She doesn’t think she could bear being alone tonight. Just tonight, she assures herself, then things will go back to normal. 

  
  
  



End file.
